Saturday, 8 June 2013

All day
we had followed the beast, over the rocky heights of the pass, and now, in the
late afternoon light, its spoor was so clear that I knew it could be only a
short distance ahead. And once or twice I even fancied I could hear it, a
moaning call like a trumpet echoing faintly in the surrounding hills.

“It is very close,” the guide confirmed,
his voice shaking.

I scarcely bothered glancing at him. He was
one of the villagers of the mountains, short of stature, broad of shoulder, uncouth
of speech, and utterly in awe of the beast, which of course he had never seen.
I knew well enough that but for the enormous amount I had already paid his
chief, and promised more, he would never have agreed to guide me.

“Are you afraid?” I asked quietly, my eyes
on the path. Up ahead, where the walls of rock reached higher still, there was
a hint of movement, as though something had just passed. But surely we couldn’t
be so close, not yet; it must have been my imagination.

“It will kill us,” he said. “When we catch
up with it, it will kill us both.”

“At most,” I replied mildly, “it will kill me, only. You can make a run for it.” We spoke quietly, but there wasn’t much
of a point of maintaining silence. The creature was aware that we were on its
trail. It had been aware for years.

“I’ve been chasing it for many years,” I
had told the chief in the village, while trying to persuade him to give me a
guide. He had been obdurate at first, maintaining that he would not send any of
his men to certain death, no matter how much I was willing to pay. “Ever since
I was a young man, I have been determined to hunt it down. And I have a
commission to destroy it, from the king.”

He had looked at me queerly, his wispy
white beard waggling over the cup of greenish tea. “You have been so?” he had
asked, in his thick accented dialect, which I still could not manage to
understand completely despite the years I spent hunting in these hills. “You
tell me something. Why?”

“Why?” I’d paused at the question. In all
the years of my quest, it was the first time anyone had asked it. Down in the cities,
the answer might be assumed to be self-evident. “It’s an evil beast,” I’d
responded, “a cruel, devouring monster. It has devastated whole provinces, and
must be destroyed.”

“Hunters have tried before,” the chief had said,
surprisingly clearly, and not for the first time I’d wondered if his thick
rustic accent weren’t partly assumed. “Over the years – the decades – many hunters
have tried. Some had commissions too. You know what happened to them.”

I’d nodded in acknowledgement. “I know. But
I am prepared, as they were not. I have hunted down the creature for years, and
I am still alive. And you can see that the beast flees before me, until I am
only a short way behind it. A few days only, and I shall have it in my power.”

He’d glanced at my great crossbow, leaning
against the wall. “And you will kill it then – with that?”

“Yes, my bolts are treated with the warlocks’
poison,” I’d informed him. I remembered the warlocks’ hall in the capital,
where the black-robed mages had hovered over ancient grimoires and bubbling
cauldrons, quenching the ivory-tipped bolts in nameless potions until the heads
were dark as pitch. Ivory, they had told me, was the only way to break the
beast’s skin; metal would do it no harm whatsoever. They had also done other
magic, which they said would keep me from harm until I had found the beast.
Once I’d caught up with it, though, I’d be on my own – except for their poison
bolts. “You know the poison will melt flesh off bone, even such flesh as the
creature has.”

“Aye,” he’d acknowledged. “So it is said. But
do ye know that even if ye kill the beast, there will be another to take its
place?”

I’d noticed that he was slipping back into
the dialect. “There’s but the one,” I’d told him. “Once there were many, but
they were all killed, and this is the very last. Only one in the whole wide
world, and when it’s slain, there will never be any more.”

He’d shaken his head. “Ye know nothing,” he’d
mumbled. “There was always but the one. There will always be one.”

“Well,” I’d said, beginning to get
impatient, “will you provide me with a guide?” I’d been growing tired of the
village, which was little more than a circle of mud-walled huts roofed with
skins; tired of the chief, his wrinkled wife, and of his round-faced daughter,
who’d been sitting on the far side of the fire staring at me with her tiny
eyes, as though she’d never seen a city man before. Probably she hadn’t, come
to that. “You know that the king’s commission means I can access the royal
treasury. I am able to pay as much as you should want.” That wasn’t only an
appeal to his greed, but a reminder that I held the commission, and that there
were – penalties – for obstructing me.

Slowly, very slowly, he’d nodded, not looking
at me. “I will have a guide for you in the morning,” he’d said. “Today, it is
too late for that.”

I’d not slept well. It wasn’t the
surroundings themselves – the chief’s house was the best in the village, and of
course I’d been given the best room, which had been cleaned out for my sake. Of
course it was still flea-ridden and grimy, and stank of old mildew; but I’d
slept in worse in the years I’d been chasing the creature. It wasn’t the fact
that the chief’s daughter tried to sneak into my bed in the middle of the
night; I’d been expecting something of the sort, and sent her away with a
promise to look in on the way back, a promise I had no intention of honouring. No,
it was the proximity of the beast itself, the feeling that it was at last
almost within reach.

I’d lain awake through most of the night,
imagining it somewhere in the hills above the village, perhaps knowing how close
I was, perhaps sensing its imminent doom. It was far from a stupid beast,
crafty and cunning, and it had evaded me many times over the years when I’d
imagined it was at my mercy. But now I had mastered all its tricks, and driven
it up into these hills, the ancient home of its kind. It had nowhere to run.

Lying awake, I’d almost imagined that it
was outside, prowling the stony lanes of the village, sniffing around locked
doors, trying to find me and destroy me before I could find it. But the village
dogs had been silent, and the night was still. Not even the wind which blew
through the chinks in the wall by my head made a noise.

At last, in the early hours of the morning,
with dawn already a promise in the eastern horizon, I’d fallen into a fitful doze,
and into a dream. Much of it I’d forgotten when I woke, but what remained with
me was less a dream than a memory – a memory of a village I’d seen in the far
south, years ago, which had been attacked by the creature.

I’d arrived the morning after the beast had
done its work and departed, leaving the village in ruins, the people – all but
one of those that hadn’t been devoured – huddling miserably in the woods,
praying piteously to their pathetic little gods. There were few enough of them,
perhaps a dozen at most. They’d looked at me without hope, and I hadn’t had a
word to say. What could I have told them? I’d looked around, marked the spoor
of the creature, and started again on its trail.

It was on the way out of the village that I’d
met the one exception who’d neither been eaten nor fled. It was a young woman,
in the tattered remnants of a maidservant’s dress. She was sitting by the side
of the road, on the rotting trunk of a fallen tree, softly singing to herself,
a song in a language I’d never heard, with a tune strange and compelling. When
she’d heard me coming, she’d looked up at me, her eyes fearless in her dirt
streaked face.

For some reason I hadn’t felt like
laughing. “I don’t want to harm you,” I’d said. “I was just listening to that
song – and wondering why you sit out here while the rest of the village is dead
or hiding.”

For reply she’d turned so I could see her
back. The cloth hung in ribbons, and the skin below was raised in ugly long
weals, so clear that I could almost hear the slash of the whip that had flogged
her. “What happened?”

She’d told me the tale, haltingly, breaking
off at intervals to sing snatches of that song. It was a familiar enough story,
of a girl from the poorest of the poor forced to work as a servant for a family
slightly higher up the social ladder. There was a master who was overly
familiar, and a mistress who became first suspicious, then jealous, and blamed
her for leading the man on. Finally, the woman had confronted her husband, who
had blamed it all on the girl, of course.

“The two of them pulled me outside...” she’d
said, staring up at me with her fearless eyes. “Then he held me down, and she
started whipping me – and whipping...I knew they were going to kill me. I heard
them talking about it. The rest of the village – they were watching, but nobody
said anything. And then –“

She’d broken off to sing, and would not
talk to me again; but I’d been able to fill in the next bit for myself. The
beast had come then, and devoured the man and woman. It had spared her, though,
and moved on to deal with the rest of the village.

I’d left her still sitting on her log, and
walked away. The last I’d heard was her voice, still raised in that strange,
compelling song.

I’d come awake, shaking my head. What had
brought this buried memory up, after so many years? I’d found others afterwards
that the beast seemed to have spared, for reasons unfathomable. I could only
guess at its motivations, and that made not the slightest difference to my
quest.

When I’d got up and stepped out of the hut,
I’d stopped in my tracks, my face growing cold with shock. Just outside the
door was the mark of an immense foot, sickle-shaped slashes of claws digging
into the dirt. The beast had been here, just as I’d imagined. And it had been
silent – so silent that not even the village dogs had got to know it was there.

For a moment I’d wondered why it hadn’t
simply broken down the wall and entered. It was big and strong enough, and the
hut was flimsy enough. I’d shrugged. It only meant that the beast hadn’t used
the hours of darkness to run, and that only brought me closer to tracking it
down.

Now, crouched on the trail next to the
guide, I looked up the pass. “Are there caves in the walls of the pass?”

“No, but there are...ledges. It’s not easy
to see what’s on top, from below.” The guide hesitated. “Maybe we make camp
here tonight and go on in the morning?”

“No!” It wasn’t just the fact that I knew
he’d use the darkness to try and sneak away, back to the village. I could taste
the nearness of the beast, could almost feel the tingling in the hairs on my
arms. “We’re going on.”

He looked at me with an expression filled
with such fear that I realised he wasn’t scared of the monster as much as he
was of me. “All right. We go on.”

The sun had set behind the top of the hills
by the time we entered the pass, the shadows falling over us like a thick purple
blanket. The sky above was still porcelain-blue, though, and there was enough
light to see. I knew we’d better locate the creature before darkness fell, or
we’d be helpless in these narrow confines. It could decapitate us from above in
an instant, with one swipe of its claws – or impale us on the tip of its
stinging tail.

I suppressed a shudder at the thought of
the tail. That was the one thing about the beast which had never ceased to
unnerve me.

“We must find it before dark, sir,” the
guide said, echoing my thoughts so exactly that I was filled with sudden fury.
I was about to round on him when something caught at the corner of my eye.

In itself it wasn’t much – a deeper shadow,
a flicker in the deepening dusk, as of something which had just turned round a
far corner of the path. Instinctively, I paused, staring. “Did you see that?”

“Yes...” His voice had sunk to a whisper. “What
is it?”

“The flap of the beast’s wings – got to be.
It’s just gone around the turning. Come quickly.”

Without waiting for him, I began to run,
tugging the crossbow off my shoulder. The pass was narrow, so narrow that I
knew the beast couldn’t spread its wings to fly properly. Not that its wings
could carry it far, of course; for all their great size, they weren’t big
enough to do more than lift the great weight of the monster’s body a little off
the ground.

Running as fast as I could, I rounded the
bend and came to a halt so sudden that I stumbled.

Before me, the pass straightened out, into
a stretch so long that I could only just see the far end. And even in that
dimming light, I could make out that it was empty.

But that flicker of wing I had just seen...

A slight sound, above and to my left.
Slowly, as drawn by invisible hands, I turned.

It crouched above me, silhouetted against
the darkling sky. Its immense wings were outstretched above its heavy
shoulders, its face contorted in a silent snarl which revealed its rows of
teeth. Behind, almost invisible in the gathering gloom, its barbed tail
switched from side to side.

It was terrible, and beautiful, frozen in
the moment of stillness before it sprang, its shoulders like boulders against
the sky. The head was a carving, a great evil god, before whom generations
might bow in silent terror, their lives dependent on its caprice of the moment.
The legs were pillars of muscle, tipped with diamond claws, which dug into the
cliff face so tightly that they carved grooves in the rock. It crouched, an
endless moment, before its legs bent under it and it launched itself off the
cliff and at me.

Time seemed to stop. I watched it hang in
the air, as it came down at me, and I was also frozen, it seemed, my movements
slow as treacle. And then the beast was down, on the floor of the pass, close
enough to touch. It threw its head back, its jaws gaping, and it made a noise.

It took me a moment to realise that it was
singing. It was singing the song the maidservant had sung, so many years ago.

Suddenly, everything was moving, and at top
speed. The beast reared, its huge forelimbs stretched towards me, great claws
extended, swatting. But I’d already ducked beneath the creature’s clumsy swipe,
and my crossbow was up, my finger on the trigger, squeezing. At this range I
couldn’t possibly miss. And I didn’t.

Even as the beast crashed down on the rocky
ground, transfixed by the bolt through the heart, it kept singing. Even as it
snapped up at me with its rows of dagger-like teeth, it sang, the lilting tune
resonating through me, drawing me to step forward, fascinated, even as I reloaded
the crossbow. It was still singing as, at the last moment and too late to do
anything about it, I saw its tail whipping round at me.

I never felt the impact itself. The darkness
seemed to suddenly close in, like a tunnel, and the last thing I heard was the
beast, still alive, still singing.

********************************

I do not
know how long it was till I awoke. It cannot have been too long, for the light
was not completely gone from the sky above, though the pass was plunged into
darkness. But I could see, well enough – the rough stone walls, the strip of
stone that comprised the floor of the pass, I could see it well enough.

The body of the beast lay beside me,
seeming oddly shrunken, as though death had robbed it of some essential quality
that had given it its size. As I raised myself, painfully, on my arms, it
seemed for a moment as though the whole world had shrunken too – as though the
pass was narrower than I remembered, the walls more constricting.

I was still gathering my strength together
when I heard voices. The next moment, there were torches shining on the rock
walls, and my guide was leading a group from the village round the bend of the
pass.

I clambered up off the rock to show myself,
that they should know I was alive. We must have seen each other at the exact same
moment.

They screamed.

They screamed, in terror, their high
wailing voices bouncing off the rock walls, and then they were sprinting off
down the path, the torches thrown down, sputtering off the rock. I opened my
mouth to call out, to tell them to wait, that it was all right, I had killed
the monster.

What came out of my throat was song. It was
the same song. Rising and falling, it echoed off the cliffs, bouncing off the
rock again and again.

I looked around. My wings were flapping,
slowly and unsurely, but they would gain strength. My tail was switching back
and forth, the stinger at the tip already full of venom. I raised my head, and
felt the mane heavy on my shoulders.

I howled, pacing, pacing, the length of the
pass. After a while I followed the path down towards the village, but I passed
it by. Don’t ask me why – maybe it was because I wished to spare the chief’s
pathetic, cowlike daughter.

I passed it by.

That was a long time ago, longer than I
care to remember.

I am the manticore.

I go on now, through the land, sowing
terror and devastation in my wake. When I can, I bring justice, ravaging the
strong and sparing the weak. They hunt me too, soldiers and hunters and peasant
levies, and sometimes I have to fight to save myself, for my time is not yet
come.

One day it will come, though, I know. One
day, when I am very old and beginning to weaken, some hunter will come, filled
with the skill and determination to track me down, and I will let him find me. I
will face him, and I will let him kill
me - but not before I teach him my song,
and sting him in my dying.

And then there will be another manticore,
and after that, another, till the kingdoms are dust, and then beyond, till the
end of time.

Men will live, and men will die. Cities and
nations will rise and fall.

Thursday, 6 June 2013

Once upon a time, a long way away from
here, a baboon troop lived in a valley in the middle of the desert, in the lee
of a high and rocky mountain.

It was a lush and fertile valley, for all
that it was surrounded by stony hills and sand stretching to the distant
horizon, for in the valley there was a deep oasis filled with cool, fresh
water, around which grew trees heavy with fruit. It was, in fact, a wonderful
place for the baboon troop, because not only did it have plenty to eat and
drink, but because no leopard could possibly reach it all the way across the
desert. In consequence, they called themselves the Great Troop.

There were a few other small valleys
nearby, mere scratches in the earth, with scraggly acacia growing around water
holes which scarcely held anything more than liquid mud. A few tiny troops of
baboons lived in these valleys, too, but they were few, disease ridden, stunted
from chronic starvation, and looked down on by the baboons of the Great Troop
as worthy of only contempt.

The Great Troop baboons looked around,
then, and said to themselves: “We must be the favourite of the Great Baboon,
for he has seen fit to give us – and to us alone – this bounty of plenitude.
Therefore, as we are favoured above all other baboons, it seems clear that we
are the best of all, and that what we think, or say, or do, matters more than
what any other baboons say, or think, or do, in all the whole wide world.

“Furthermore,” they said, looking around, “the
bounty given unto us is to be enjoyed, and it would be spurning the gifts of
the Great Baboon if we did not enjoy it.” So they took the fruit that grew on
the trees, and not only ate it, but also kept it in heaps till it fermented and
produced wine. The females tore off the flowers when they were in season, and
decorated themselves by wearing them in their fur, and saw that it made them
beautiful, which made them even surer of the grace of the Great Baboon. They drank the water in the oasis, and also
washed themselves in it, and carried it away to make mud enclosures in which to
live, because staying in the trees no longer seemed attractive. And the males
vied with each other in making larger and more high-walled enclosures, for they
thought that such would attract more females. And so the time passed.

One day the leaders of the Great Troop
looked around the valley, and what they saw filled them with a vague alarm. “The
oasis is almost dry,” they said, “because all the water has gone into making
the mud houses. And what little remains is foul with dirt, because the people
wash themselves in it.

“Also,” they said, “the roots of the trees
are dry, for the water is gone. And so they have put forth few flowers, and of
those the women of the people have taken most to make themselves look
beautiful. And of those which went to fruit, the majority went to make wine. So
the fruit trees are bare, and there is not enough left to eat.”

“Should we then give up our lifestyle,
break down the mud houses, and go back to living flowerless and wineless in the
trees?” someone asked. “Is that the desire of the Great Baboon?”

“How can that be?” the elders of the troop
argued. “The Great Baboon set us above all others, and He cannot possibly
desire that we go back to the primitive existence of all the other baboons. Of
course we must continue living as we did, but we shall have to find water,
flowers, and fruit for ourselves.”

“Where can we find them?” one of the elders
of the troop worried. “The only way we can find them is to invade and conquer
the other valleys, which are full of inferior baboons, who make no use of the
resources they have.”

“It will be easy to conquer them,” another
countered, “for they are few, weak and scrawny. Clearly, the Great Baboon means us to overcome them, and clearly,
too, we must teach them our ways, for we are so clearly superior to them. In
fact, we have a duty to invade and
conquer them.”

And so that is what they did. Some of the
other baboon troops resisted, often fiercely, but they were weak and few, and they had only their teeth to defend themselves, while the Great Troop's army had sticks and stones. So, finally, there came a time when there was in that part of the desert not one valley
which was not under the domination of the Great Troop.

“Now,” said the elders of the Great Troop
happily, “we can live as the Great Baboon intended, and as we have always done.”
And the troop continued to make their mud enclosures, and flowers from the
trees, and fermented the fruit into wine.

But then one day the elders looked around,
and in all the valleys there was not a single one which had fruit or flower, or
even water, left; and they were badly shaken.

“Something will have to be done,” they
said. But there was nothing to be done except give up their privileged lives,
and clearly the Great Baboon could not have intended that.

“We are hungry and thirsty,” cried the
baboons of the Great Troop to their elders. “Where has all our fruit and water
gone? Even our women cannot find flowers to wear in their fur. Help us.”

“There must be a source for our
misfortunes,” an elder declared. “It must be those evil baboons who live up on
the mountain. They have seen our great riches and are envious, and they have
conspired against us. They come in secret, steal our fruit and dirty our water,
and stop us from living the way the Great Baboon intended. They are enemies of
the Way of the Great Baboon.”

“Clearly,” the other elders agreed, “it is
our duty to defeat their plans. We must at once prepare an army to march upon
the mountain and destroy those baboons. It is a matter of our security.”

“You must all,” the first elder told the
Troop, “help the army prepare, and give them all aid, for they are going to
fight for your rights and freedom to live as the Great Baboon intended.”

“We will, we will,” the baboons of the
troop said. And so they gave all the food, water and wine they could spare to
the army, which marched upon the mountain.

But time passed, and the army did not come
back from the mountain. The people continued to send food and water up its
heights, and clamoured for news to the elders.

“The war is going well,” the elders
proclaimed. “The army has conquered the mountain. However, it must continue to
occupy it lest the evil baboons come back.”

And so more time passed.

Now among the baboons of the Great Troop
there was one who had always been considered strange by the others, for he
would not admit that Way of the Great Baboon was better than any other way of
living – no, he had even been known to doubt that the Great Baboon existed, and
had been accordingly chastised by the elders of the troop. He was, accordingly,
called the Outsider.

Now the Outsider decided that he would go
and see what was happening up on the mountain, where the army had been fighting
for so long. One night he sneaked out of the valley, and after many adventures
finally reached the mountain. And after several more days he arrived back in
the valley.

“Come here,” he shouted, climbing on a high
rock. “Come here, everybody.” When the baboons had gathered, he fluffed himself
up and began:

“I have been up the mountain, and seen for
myself the war our army is fighting up there for our freedom and the Way of the
Great Baboon. And I shall tell you what I have seen:

“There are no evil baboons up on the
mountain. There are only a few baboons there, who had lived their own lives as they pleased and
wished to continue living their own lives as they pleased. They never had done us any harm,
stolen our fruit or dirtied our oases. They were not our enemies. But our army
went up to take their mountain from them, and they are fighting back, for they
are wild and fierce, and it is a big mountain. Anyone who tells you otherwise
is lying.”

The assembled baboons murmured to
themselves, while the elders watched with consternation. Then one of them
stepped forward. “If you say the baboons up on the mountain are not to blame
for our misfortunes, who is? Can you answer that?”

And the Outsider said, calmly, “It is us
who did it to ourselves, living as we never should have, far beyond the
capacity of our valley to sustain. It is we, and only we, who are to blame.”

“A heretic!” the elders shrieked in triumph.
“A heretic, who blasphemes against the Great Baboon Himself, and slanders His
gifts and His purpose. He is certainly in league with the enemy on the
mountain. Seize him!” And so it was done.

“We must at once,” said the elders, “search
out more heretics, and root them out, before they destroy the Way of the Great
Baboon from within, as the enemy is doing from without. We should at once launch
an Inquisition, and destroy all the traitors – starting with the Outsider, and
all like him, for there must be many.” And so it was done.

And time passed, and still the battle on
the mountain was not won.

“There must be evil baboons in the desert
on the other side of the mountain,” the elders said, “who are helping the enemy
on the heights. We must raise an army to go forth and crush them, so that we
preserve the sanctity of the Way.”